Killing Time 2 : Wicked Game
by LithiumDoll
Summary: Sequel to Killing Time
1. Chapter 1

You shower me with lullabies  
As you're walking away  
Reminds me that it's killing time  
On this fateful day  
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"I knew she was crazy the first time I laid eyes on her. It was in some dank little techno nightclub in the south end..." the recording stuttered brokenly and thinned to a whine. Merchant leaned over and clicked it off with a violent jab to the button then leaned back in her chair and ran a hand over her eyes, letting the tension seep away to tiredness. This was pointless. It had been pointless when they started trying to clean up the damaged digitals and it was still pointless three months later.  
  
"This is pointless."   
  
Anderson echoing her thoughts did nothing to help her mood and she answered correspondingly. "No, it isn't. There has to be something on here. South end..."  
  
"We've had south end for months. We've had the 'dank little techno nightclub'. It's all we've fucking had and this has to stop."  
  
"No."  
  
She heard the squeak of his chair as he stood. His hand was warm on her shoulder and he kept it there even after she tried to shrug him away. "Woodman's gone. We have to let it go."  
  
He said 'we' and meant 'you'. He'd given up hope after a few weeks, she knew that. Half of her was disgusted he'd do that so easily. The other half grateful he'd still spent his free time, early mornings and late nights that blended together seamlessly, with her digging in broken archives long after obligation would have been paid. "He carried you. He saved you."  
  
"I know what he did, Merchant. You tell me every day." But she could hear the resignation in his tone. One day the reminder wouldn't keep him with her but, until then, she'd use it every time she had to.  
  
"Then come with me to the nightclub. It's re-opening this evening. They might be there, Isaac has a pretty sick sense of humour."  
  
"Wow, if you look really closely, you can almost see the straws you're clutching at." His hand tightened then, at last, released her. "Okay. I'll come with you but, if they're not there, that's it. We're done. You know the psych crew are already sizing us up for straight jackets."  
  
"Deal." She raised her head at last, craning her neck to look back at him. He stood with his hands buried in his pockets, a torn expression on his face that hadn't been in his tone. A flicker of guilt for judging him so harshly nearly surfaced, but she swept it aside as she stood and turned to face him.   
  
"Why don't I believe you?" But a smirk had appeared and he shook his head, reaching to open the door for her. "You better freshen up before shift, you look like shite."  
  
"And you wonder why Mel wasn't wowed by your charms."  
  
"She loved my charms. She fucking adored my charms, okay? I have great charms. She just didn't like the way I was spending all my time with another woman."  
  
Merchant felt her eyes widen as she stopped mid stride into the corridor and looked to him. "You were cheating on her?"  
  
"Moron. I'm talking about you. Unless being stuck in a glorified broom closet listening to white noise hits your kink, I'm on the moral high ground." He grinned and nothing was going to halt the flush to her cheeks.   
  
"Sorry. I'm just..."  
  
"Horrifically suspicious? Convinced I have the ethics of a plague rat?"  
  
"... tired. And sorry again. But you completely led me into that."   
  
"Well, the moral high ground was nice while it lasted."  
  
"Stop toying with the sleep deprived. Come pick me up at eight, my place. And wear something ... clubby. Also, bring something clubby. Or pointy. Or shooty."  
  
He just snorted and left her at the door to the women's bathroom. At six in the morning it was usually deserted and she'd almost come to think of it as hers, resenting the few intruders she occasionally found in there. A tragic statement on her life that she really didn't want to think about, but at least it was empty for the moment.  
  
The thick walls muffled what sound there was from the corridors and the lights were bright and clean, reflecting off white tile to make a stark contrast to the dingy archive room where she spent most of her time now. A tap dripped solidly, no amount of plumbing assaults had convinced it to stop and she found it a familiar comfort rather than an irritation - just another part of her six a.m.   
  
A shower took some of the fog away, a clean shirt almost made her feel like a real Agent again. The mirror tended to take that impression away and she generally avoided looking in it until the last. Make-up didn't quite hide the dark rings under her eyes or the unhealthy pallor of her skin. She couldn't really remember the last time she'd been out in the sun for any length of time. Her hair hung lank in its ponytail, the lustre her boyfriends had inevitably admired long gone. So were the boyfriends, for that matter.  
  
Anderson was being kind, she looked like shit warmed over and served with a death dressing.   
  
"Sam Merchant, you're pathetic. Smile." Her reflection commanded and she obeyed. After a moment she was even able to work a glimmer of it into her gaze. She'd pass inspection for today and it was only for today. Despite Anderson's disbelief, this would be the last chance to find Woodman.  
  
The day passed in the haze she had become accustomed to. Her assignment wasn't taxing, her superiors had made sure of that. Four months after the near destruction of the HQ and they were still treating herself and Anderson like spun glass. What Woodman had said to make sure they even remained with the Project was a mystery, but he'd done something. And then, of course, he'd disappeared.   
  
Anderson bought a sandwich she forgot to eat, again, and that was the only real demarcation she had of hours passing. Only when an exodus began around her did she focus on the time at the bottom of her computer screen.  
  
Apparently it was six in the evening and, miraculously, she appeared to have typed a full report. It would make for fascinating reading at some point, probably, but she simply saved it to the server for retrieval and joined the others in the rush for the door.  
  
The air was cool on her face as she left the building, the sun just visible through the sunset pollution as it slipped behind the towers of the cityscape. She let herself be swept to the tube station with the rest of the Suits, finally managing to fight her way clear at her stop.   
  
Only when she'd taken another shower and stood before an open wardrobe full of clothes she didn't remember buying did her brain begin to show signs of sentient life. Wear something clubby, she'd told Anderson, and only now did she realise the same applied to her.   
  
Everything she owned appeared to be ironed, that was depressing. She dug a little further into the closet and eventually came upon the box she'd dimly remembered throwing clothes into when she'd left University, to mark the end of an era. With a degree of trepidation, she took the box to the bed and opened it.  
  
"Christ, what was I thinking?"  
  
Inside was an aggressively violent jumble of colours that had gone from her life when she took up the standard black and white. The first thing that caught her eye was a shimmering gold top. It seemed the least offensive of the choices and, as a sleeveless polo, it would also cover her neck – something she considered a distinct bonus in its favour.  
  
A bottle of glitter spray rolled from its folds and she grinned despite herself.   
  
When the doorbell rang promptly at eight, she wobbled her way to the door trying to work out how she hadn't broken her neck long before now. Six-inch heels, had she had some kind of death wish as a teenager?  
  
Habit made her look through the peephole before opening the door, revealing Anderson waiting impatiently in the London drizzle. With his hair in gelled into short spikes, he looked about five years younger than he was and she saw, when he lifted his hand to press the bell once more, he'd painted his nails black.  
  
Before he could press the buzzer again, she opened up and stepped back to let him in. A grin tugged at her lips but she restrained it. Laughing at his neo grunge look would be an open invitation for him to return the favour over her outfit. His mouth hung open for a moment before he stepped in and spoke.  
  
"That's not a skirt, that's a belt. You're going to freeze to death and see if I come pick you and your friends up after the party, young lady."  
  
"Dad, is that you?" She let the grin come as she went to fetch her coat "You're babbling, is it the glitter?"  
  
"It's pretty much the entire package. And the legs. Who knew you have legs? And where the legs meet the back, that whole area."  
  
"Such a smooth talker. Marry me, I must have your little grungy babies."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I had to raid my brother's wardrobe and don't think that didn't lead to embarrassing questions. The things I do for you." He helped her on with her coat, catching her when she inevitably stumbled over her heels. "Are you sure those are a good idea? In the really fucking unlikely event they're there, if we have to run…"  
  
"Then we've done something wrong. The point is to look harmless and unconcerned, he'll think we must have something else for him to worry about."  
  
"Sorry, forgot I was talking to a profiler for a moment there. It's the glitter. And the legs."  
  
"Enough about the legs."  
  
"Told."  
  
"What did you bring?"   
  
He shrugged and opened the tattered over shirt enough she could see the gun holster. "It's all I could requisition, and I owe Forsythe my first born for that. They were all out of rocket launchers. You?"  
  
"Do you seriously think I could conceal anything in this outfit? I'm bringing my winning smile."  
  
"We're going to die." 


	2. Chapter 2

I'm in a crowded place  
But I can't recognize a single face  
They say the thrill is in the chase  
Well I ain't got the legs, ain't got the legs  
To run that race  
----------------------------------------------  
  
Standing outside the nightclub, Merchant had to concede that 'dank' was no longer appropriate to the description. Vibrant would be the kindest word applicable to the flashing neon signs and multi-coloured strobe lights that beat a staccato on the wet pavement at the doors.   
  
"It's like some cruel god dropped acid and threw up Dali's Skittles factory." Anderson was clearly not feeling kind towards the club's new look and she couldn't really say she blamed him.   
  
"Maybe it looks better inside."  
  
"Inside what, a nuclear blast radius? Anyway, we've got to get past them first." He nodded to the bouncers who were carefully vetting the crowd pushing to get in. Large men in smart casual wear that practically passed for a uniform in their profession, turning away the too young, too old and too unfashionable. "Think the winning smile will work?"  
  
"Look who's come out to play. Naughty, it's past their bed time."   
  
Four months and the voice still went directly to her survival instincts, she locked her knees to let them know running wasn't an option and turned. Anderson had been faster to face them but he didn't have to deal with the six-inch spikes of neck breaking. She laid a restraining hand on his arm, feeling the rigid tension as he held himself in place.  
  
Luci was a marvel of black silk and silver glitter, white-blonde hair shimmering unbound down her back. The presentation was too perfect and the flash of feeling gawky and plain in comparison passed quickly. Besides, making physical comparisons to the dead wasn't really the healthiest mental place to be. The leech was half draped over Isaac who had, as far as she could tell, dressed to accessorize in a black jeans and t-shirt, silver belt. It was the undead's answer to Posh and Becks.   
  
Isaac. He was looking at her with a flat but cautious expression - more aware of the possibility of more agents being in the vicinity than the woman beside him. Although the insight was fleeting, she kept it in mind as he spoke with the cockiness she remembered.  
  
"Well, this is surreal. Die here often?"  
  
"There's not going to be a precedent tonight, don't even try it. We just want to ask you some questions."  
  
"How'd you know we'd be here, anyway? Developed a bit of competency, did we?"   
  
"You're not worth research, you're just really fucking predictable. Answer the questions and we'll let you walk away."  
  
Luci smiled as Anderson bluffed, but she didn't speak. She knew, and she wasn't speaking. Merchant tried to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of her neck and concentrated on Isaac for the moment. He looked around as if thinking, probably searching for the non-existent backup, then back.  
  
"Ask, then. For old time's sake."  
  
"Where's Woodman?" Isaac tilted his head at her blunt question, as far as she could tell having no idea at all. It produced an ache in her chest she hadn't been expecting but she tried to keep it out of her tone. "Agent Woodman, where is he?"  
  
"I know who he is and, believe me, if I had him I'd have let you know by now. Nothing says 'thinking of you' like a head in the post. We haven't seen him."  
  
"I have." Luci's voice was a lazy whisper, drawing a frown from Isaac.   
  
"All right, tell them where he is and we can go … save small kittens somewhere."  
  
"I'll tell them, but only because he'll hate that I did." Her tone became spitefully childish as she finally unwrapped herself from the man she clung to and stepped forward. "I saw him chasing swords for the tower. Stabbing and licking the blood from a blade that isn't his."  
  
"That's … incredibly unhelpful. Try again, this time with new and improved sanity." Anderson's mocking tone provoked Isaac to move forward, hissing despite the perceived danger. Before Merchant or Anderson could move, Luci had turned to hold him back with apparent ease.  
  
"No, sweet boy. It'll ruin the game. Wind the up and watch them go."  
  
Something seemed to pass between them before Isaac finally subsided back under her insistent touch. "You're still going to pay for that, blood bag."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Big scary vampire. Observe my terror while you're translating loony tunes speak."  
  
"She saw him near where some … kindred have meetings. Tower Inn on the river. Maybe one of them has him or something. I really don't care. Fuck them, fuck him and fuck you."  
  
"Necrophilia, not a big turn on." Anderson was still buying time for Merchant to make her assessment and for that she could have had his grungy little babies for real. Isaac had said 'kindred' with contempt but she'd heard the word before. It obediently came to mind after a moment and she smiled faintly, thinking through what they had said and what they hadn't until the shape of the situation was solid in her mind.  
  
"So he's with whoever your fighting and they probably don't even know you're around, right? Hell, your own people, and I use the term loosely, can't be that happy with you either." She nodded and glanced to Anderson "Sound like leverage to you?"  
  
"Works for me." Anderson gave his brightest smile to the two vampires before them. "You can sod off."  
  
Isaac appeared to be having some trouble speaking through gritted teeth to Luci. "Are you sure we can't kill them now?" Her eyes were bright with fascination; Merchant let a smile onto her lips. The leech hadn't seen that one coming, even if she didn't seem as perturbed as she should have been.  
  
"We could just leave, bishop's off the board."  
  
"But you won't because you like to play, Luci. I remember that really well."  
  
The peeled laughter rang out with the same fractured edge. "Wasn't that fun? Didn't you have fun?"  
  
It was an effort not to step back as the other woman advanced again and it seemed a fairly pointless one. Luci read her, maybe even knew what she was thinking. At the very least she could probably smell fear like any animal. But Merchant stood her ground and replied as steadily as she could. "I had a concussion and stitches. Which you caused."  
  
"And you shot me. Twice. See? Fun. But you're right. We won't leave. If you're very good, we'll even help you." Her voice lowered to conspiratorial tones that the men could still easily hear. "Isaac is becoming very boring, he'll barely let me have my games at all. But now he has to."  
  
Finally she drew back with a smile that would have been playful on anyone but her, slipping her arm through Isaac's and turning them to walk away. Only when they were completely lost from sight did Merchant finally let her knees have their way and leant against Anderson, voice tightened by sudden reaction constricting her throat. Delayed terror was better than immediate terror, at least.  
  
"That went …"  
  
"Went what?"  
  
"I don't know. It pretty much just went. What did we just do?"  
  
"I think we just broke every single rule in the book." He began to steer her towards the car and she let him, trying not to resent the fact he seemed to be handling this a lot better than her.   
  
"Even number fourteen?"  
  
"Especially number fourteen."  
  
"What is number fourteen?"  
  
"Don't engage."  
  
"I thought that was fifteen."  
  
"No, that's 'Seriously, we mean it.'"  
  
"Wait, we have a book?"  
  
"We should probably write one. It would be nice to be remembered for something other than stupidity above and beyond the call of duty."  
  
"Yeah, let's do that."  
  
Anderson pulled the car back into the steady stream of traffic, hands tapping on the steering wheel in a strange beat. Every time she thought she had worked out what song he was running in his head, it changed. Eventually she gave up trying and let herself relax, processing what had happened.  
  
"He's in London."  
  
"If we can trust her to be telling the truth."  
  
"We can't trust her as far as I could comfortably spit her, but it's worth investigating."  
  
"You really meant it? About trading them for him, I mean?" He stopped tapping long enough to look at her then his eyes returned to the road. "We could just set a retrieval team on the Inn."  
  
They were both skirting around the fundamental question of whether Woodman was even Woodman any more. She shook her head, not wanting to deal with multiple-choice answers that were presenting themselves until the morning.  
  
"Maybe we can put the place under surveillance, see if he turns up before we make it official."  
  
"Christ, come up with a better excuse than that when they've got us on the dock for concealing the evidence."  
  
She grinned suddenly, the exultation at having a real lead finally winning over the uncertainty of how they'd got it.  
  
"Just tell them we didn't want to bother accounting, I hear the budget's tight this year."  
  
"Do the words thirty to life mean anything to you?"  
  
"Sure, you finally discovered the concept of optimism." 


End file.
